


the little lion

by myshkaa



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Internal Conflict, Jos Verstappen's A+ Parenting, M/M, Stuffed Toys, so soft, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:50:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28497858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myshkaa/pseuds/myshkaa
Summary: Max finds a stuffed animal in his driver room. Where did it come from?But more importantly: Why is he sort of getting attached to it?
Relationships: Daniel Ricciardo/Max Verstappen
Comments: 66
Kudos: 269





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It has come to my attention that I am unable to write anything other than wildly self-indulgent fanfic. So here's that. :)
> 
> Once again a huge thank you to [dauhu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dauhu) for always cheering me on! I could not have written this without you <3

He doesn’t notice it at first, but when he closes the door and turns around, it’s staring straight at him from next to one of his caps on the table. A stuffed animal—a lion, to be precise. How it got in here, he doesn’t know; not a lot of people have access to his driver’s room. Maybe it was Alex, sneaking it in as a prank with Lando after the  _ Kikker & Vriendjes _ disaster of last month. 

Max cringes at the memory. Yes, he enjoys watching a cartoon from his childhood. No, he refuses to be ashamed of that,  _ Alex _ . And if he was tearing up a little when Alex had barged in, well, he couldn’t help it. Frog was just so  _ sad _ .

There isn’t a lot of time to think about where the stuffed animal might have come from, however, as a rap on the door alerts him that the car had arrived to take them back to their hotel. Max goes over to the table and quickly swaps his soggy Pirelli P1 cap for the usual Red Bull one, and before he thinks about it too hard, he grabs the lion before leaving. Maybe he’ll be able to figure out who snuck it in his room later.

Fans immediately mob him as he leaves the motorhome, and he stuffs the lion under his armpit to free up both of his hands before he signs some posters. He takes pictures with some of the fans, barely breaking his stride, and somewhat regrets taking the lion with him as he angles his body to make sure it won’t end up in any of the shots. 

Max breathes out a sigh of relief when the car comes into view, and he gratefully collapses into the backseat and shuts the door, cutting off the noise and bustle of the crowd. The driver inches away from the curb, moving at a snail’s pace to avoid running into (and over) the hordes of people, and Max finds himself staring into the shiny eyes of the lion in his lap.

He turns it over in his hands. It’s way softer than he’s expecting, with a fluffy body and tail and a downy, soft mane. Its fur is a golden yellow, and its mane and nose are a dark brown. There’s no tag or note attached to clue him in on where it might have come from.

“Cute,” Alex says from the other side of the backseat, looking up from a fan’s letter to grin teasingly at the stuffed animal. 

Max snorts. “Whatever, mate.” If Alex is trying to pretend to be innocent in order to trick him, Max isn’t about to give him the reaction he wants. He has plenty of experience with pranks, mostly thanks to Lando. A random stuffed animal is probably one of the tamest he’s had to deal with so far.

It’s not like Alex can talk much anyways, with the hearts Max spies on the letter he’s reading dusting his lap with loose pink glitter. Max scoots closer to the door on his side of the car, not wanting the permanent sparkly curse to spread to him.

He doesn’t even know what he’s going to do with the lion. He doesn’t want a stuffed animal.

It had been a good race, even if it got a little stale with nobody challenging him. Capping off the 2020 season on a high note to the sweet, sweet tune of P1 ( _ finally _ ) is nothing to complain about. The end of the season couldn’t have come sooner. The schedule had been packed with so much  _ stuff _ that he felt like he never had time to rest, not to mention getting P3 after P3 was grating on his nerves. Now, in the car, he’s already planning out his new life as a lump vegetating on his couch.

Max gets to his hotel room, tosses his cap somewhere in the direction of his suitcase on the floor, and flops onto his bed, still holding the lion. He groans in relief as his aching muscles finally unclench, and he lies there for way too long, a champagne-soaked puddle melting into his bedsheets.

Sky Sports had gotten him and Dan to do another joint interview at the skypad, reviewing their memorable on-track moments from the season. It was fun. It’s always fun, with Dan. 

Max knows that they have good on-screen chemistry together—they were  _ the best duo in F1 _ for fuck’s sake—but it hurts, sometimes. He wishes that they had a  _ different _ type of chemistry together, one that would allow him to fall asleep in Dan’s arms, and cuddle with him on the couch, and hold his hand, and… 

He twirls the lion’s tail around his finger. God, he’s so whipped.

Max still perfectly remembers the moment his world crashed around him—when he learned Dan was leaving Red Bull. He clearly recalls the smell of coffee wafting through the early morning air and the toaster’s  _ ding _ ringing in his ears as he stood in his kitchen, staring at his phone at a post on Instagram from the official F1 account.

It was a slap to the face, even more so because Dan hadn’t even told him at all that he was leaving the team. Leaving him. 

So yeah. Max has no doubts that Dan doesn’t feel the same way about him.

It isn’t anything against Dan, though. It’s literally impossible for Max to hold a grudge against the man. The point is, it’s perfectly clear to him that he had driven Dan away, and now he has to face the consequences of his actions.

It hurts, the knowledge that he will never have what he dreams of with Dan. But they’re friends, first and foremost, and it’s already a miracle that their friendship had weathered the change in teams. He will always be Dan’s friend, for as long as Dan will have him. And if that’s all he gets, well, he’s going to have to be content with that.

Max runs his hand through his hair and grimaces as his fingers are stopped by the dried champagne gumming up the tips. There’s no time to be a heartsick mess and wallow in his Feelings, he has an early flight to Monaco tomorrow. He heaves himself off of his bed, firmly putting Dan out of his mind. Dan’s going to be in Australia all holiday anyway, so with any luck, Max won’t have any reason to angst over their relationship (or lack thereof). He goes to shower, tossing the lion onto the hotel desk.

****

After raiding the snack bar for a dinner that would 100% net him a resigned sigh and extra reps from his trainer, Max wanders aimlessly around the hotel room while brushing his teeth. He kicks his dirty post-race clothes on the floor into a crumpled heap next to his open suitcase. He should really put those away, and he still has to find extra space to stuff the mini shampoo bottles he always takes from hotel bathrooms, but that can wait.

Max stops in front of the lion on the desk. He looks over it, how its head is tilted to the side and its front paws are held open as if expecting a hug. Max reaches until his fingers barely brush the mane. It’s really soft.

He stays there for way longer than he had intended, running his fingers along the silky fur. Then he accidentally drools onto the carpet and has to speedwalk back to the sink to spit out his toothpaste.

****

In the morning, Max wakes up suspiciously well-rested and blearily squints at a black mass on his pillow until his phone comes into focus, inches away from his face. It’s dead. Of course.

He swears and scrambles out of bed after seeing the time on the hotel clock, its big red numbers practically yelling  _ you’re going to be late to the airport _ at him _. _

Max rushes around, unplugging his useless phone charger and shoving his pile of wrinkled clothes into his suitcase. The shampoo bottles end up in his hoodie’s middle pocket after he spies them waiting on the nightstand—no time to think. Then he gets to the lion. He hesitates for a bit; maybe the housekeepers would appreciate a cute stuffed animal when they come to clean the room. He doesn’t expect the sudden wave of protectiveness over the lion that swells in him at the thought, but it’s swept aside by his panic when he chances another look at the clock and sees just how late he is.

Before he thinks about it too hard, Max unzips his suitcase just wide enough to be able to cram the lion in. Now there’s a weird bulge on the side of his luggage and he’s 99% sure that the tail is caught a bit in the zipper, but it’ll have to do. He slaps what is probably more cash than necessary onto the nightstand for the tip, grabs his mask, and he’s off.

****

Max barely makes it to the Abu Dhabi International Airport on time, almost tripping over his suitcase as he skids to a stop at his flight’s terminal.

He sweats a little as he watches the TSA guy heave his luggage onto the x-ray machine’s conveyor belt. Sure, private jets are cool and all, but customs is still a thing. A thing that could expose the stuffed animal he currently has smuggled away. 

He eyes the lump on the side of his suitcase. Not like it’s a  _ bad _ thing, per se, but. His reputation is already a little bit tarnished after the whole  _ Kikker & Vriendjes _ fiasco with Alex. He doesn’t need to go about adding even more fuel to the fire.

Speak of the devil. Alex arches a judgemental eyebrow at him as Max finally boards the plane. He seems to have established himself quite solidly while waiting for Max to arrive, chair already reclined and sleeping mask propped up on his forehead.

“You wouldn’t have left without me,” Max settles primly into his seat, but his confidence crumbles a bit when Alex doesn’t concede his point.

The eyebrow only raises higher, in fact, until Alex slides the sleeping mask over his eyes and promptly passes out. In the end, Max decides to not tell him about the pink glitter he spies on it.

****

Max doesn’t get around to unpacking his stuffed suitcase from Abu Dhabi until he runs out of clean underwear. He has to lug it onto his bed and sit on it in order to be able to pull the straining zipper, and when he’s finally able to pry it open he comes face to face with the lion. Its fur is rumpled from being jammed inside the suitcase, making it look displeased both at being crushed for so long and Max’s inability to do his laundry properly. Or, like, at all. 

He smooths out its mane and puts it on his nightstand.


	2. Chapter 2

_ “Max, give it to me.”  _

_ Jos held out his hand expectantly towards Max, who was turned away from his father, shielding the floppy-eared green rabbit in his arms with his body as if he could stop what he knew was coming. _

_ “I don’t want to,” he said tearfully, and cried out when Jos reached over and wrenched the rabbit out of his tight grip. _

_ “Max.” Jos was using his Disappointed Voice, which Max knew meant that this was extra-serious. “You’re almost ten. You don’t need toys anymore, do you?” _

_ Max shook his head even as he fought back tears. “I’m a big boy.” _

_ Jos smiled in satisfaction. “That’s right, Max. Do you think Schumacher sleeps with a stuffed animal? Or Häkkinen?” _

_ “No,” Max sniffed. _

_ “If you want to make it to the top then you have to get rid of all distractions. What don’t winners do?” _

_ Max recited back, “Winners don’t whine.” _

_ “Good.” Jos ruffled Max’s hair and smiled proudly at him. “And winners don’t need toys.” _

_ Max stood up straighter and wiped his tears away before smiling back. _

_ He was a winner. _

****

Monaco is a breath of fresh air after the constant rush of the season, and Max resolutely follows through with his plan of not moving more than five feet from his sofa for a good while, something that was especially easy to do during the first fourteen days of mandatory quarantine. He’s learned the names of all of the regulars who drop off his takeout. The days blend together into a cycle of Netflix, not thinking about Dan, COD with Lando, more indulgent naps than is probably healthy, and definitely not thinking about Dan.

One of those requires much more effort than the others, especially since Dan is bent on ruining his already-weak resolve.

When Max is woken up in the late hours of the night by a notification from Dan yet again, he vows, as he drowsily squints at his phone’s bright screen, to turn his phone off before he goes to bed. That way, he would be able to sleep through the night, with the added bonus of getting over Dan sooner. The seven hour time difference between Perth and Monaco would then effectively cut off communication for the rest of the day until the season starts again. Out of sight, out of mind, as they say. Maybe the distance will do him good.

He sends a few crying laughing emojis in response to Dan’s stale meme before spending way too long looking for the perfect one to send in response, and when he finally manages  _ that _ , he turns over in bed only to find that he’s wide awake. Of course. Max tosses and turns for a while, but when his phone lights up with a response from Dan, he finds himself reaching for it without a second thought. He might as well, since he’s not going to be sleeping anytime soon.

Dan: Whoa whoa whoa why are you awake, Maxy??

Max: u texted me first idiot

Dan: But you weren’t supposed to ANSWER

Max: too bad

deal with it

Dan: I forget you turn nocturnal as soon as the season ends

Are you getting enough sleep?

Max: yes mother

Dan: I’m sorry for caring 🙄

Max: self care is binging netflix until i pass out

and going down wikipedia holes

did u know that the kangaroo and emu are on the australian coat of arms because they cant walk backwards

Dan: What

I did not

Max: are u sure ur australian smh

Dan: I am definitely Australian, thank you very much

Also what the fuck Maxy, that is NOT self-care

Max: no fuck u

Dan: Child

Max: 😊

Dan: Self-care is supposed to HELP your health

Mentally and physically

Max: self care is for the weak

Dan: Why do I even try

Self-care is for EVERYONE

Max: if u want me to sleep then stop texting me

Dan: …

So what shows have you been watching on Netflix?

Max: HA

exposed

Dan: Shut up

Max wakes up in the late afternoon the next day to a text of a beautiful Perth sunrise and smiles into his pillow. He never ends up turning his phone off during the night.

****

“Hey Max?”

“What.” Max’s eyes don’t budge from his screen to look at Lando in the Discord call on his second monitor.

Lando has gotten into the habit of harassing his teammates once he inevitably dies in the gulag (he’s impressively shitty at COD). Max has found himself ambushed in-game after getting distracted by whatever idiotic things come out of Lando’s mouth one too many times to put much stock into what he’s saying at the moment.

“What’s that?”

“What’s what.”   
  
“Behind you.”

Max shoots down an enemy. “Nice try mate, I’m not falling for that again.”

“No, I also want to know,” Charles pipes up, “I see that too, Lando.”

Max carefully maneuvers his character through a building, making sure that it’s clear before crouching next to an open window with his sniper rifle. “Shut up. Just because both of you always die so soon...”

He ignores Charles’ offended huff but freezes when Lando says, “Looks like a lion.”

Oh no. 

Max whips his head around and sure enough, his nightstand, and therefore that stupid stuffed lion, is in clear view of his monitor. He turns back just in time to see his character get gunned down. Of course.

A quick glance at the Discord call reveals the sly grins of both Lando and Charles. He’s a little afraid to ask what, exactly, they think they know, and what conclusions they immediately jumped to.

“Something you want to tell us,  _ Maxy _ ?” Charles has a delighted look on his face that Max would love to wipe off. 

“No,” he grumps, and he pushes his chair back to get the lion. “And don’t call me that.”

Max sits back down and plops the lion on his keyboard so it’s in clear view of the Discord call. “I know this was you and Alex, Lando. Really one of your weaker pranks,” he laughs.

Lando looks genuinely confused, which throws Max off. “What are you on about, mate?”

“Didn’t you two sneak this into my room in Abu Dhabi?” Max pokes the lion and squints at Lando, but he doesn’t see the usual nervous twitches that give his lies away.

“Nope.” Lando shakes his head. “And Alex would have told me.”

Max is starting to get a little frustrated. He switches his focus to Charles. “And you? Do you know anything about this?”

“I do not. But I would like to shake the hand of whoever did it.” Charles is still looking at Max with that infuriatingly smug look on his face. “Is it time for your nap? Do you need to sleep with your teddy be—”

Max kicks Charles out of the Discord call.

****

And so the lion finds a new home next to Max’s computer. At first he props it up next to his monitor purely to spite Charles, but after a while, Max has to admit to himself that it’s kind of nice to have a little companion with him while the hours melt away. The next time Lando and Charles ask about it, Max tells them that he threw it away.

“It was only a stupid toy,” he shrugs. He ignores the twinge of guilt in his stomach as he looks past his screen at the very same lion, sitting in its now-customary position.

It’s all too easy to reach out and grab it when he’s frustrated, petting the soft mane and calming down before starting another game, and even easier to do the same in celebration after a win. The lion is always cheering him on, with his happy face and paws outstretched as if in victory. Even the crabbiest person on the planet, Max figures, would soften up if they had a lion of their own. They’d have to get their own, though—he’s not giving his up in a hurry. 

When Max makes the trek from his bed to his couch to switch from a small screen to a bigger one, he makes sure to take the lion with him. If he needs a change in scenery, it would only be nice to give his little friend one as well. And if he sometimes wakes up to find himself hugging it close to his chest? He ignores the familiar voice in the back of his head, as well as the familiar guilty feeling that he’s doing something he shouldn’t be doing.  _ Winners don’t need toys _ . Nobody will ever know, anyways.


	3. Chapter 3

One afternoon, Max makes the serious and fatal mistake of tapping onto Dan’s Instagram story. His senses are immediately bombarded with lots of sweaty muscle (oh god) and tousled curls (yes please) and Dan looking straight into the camera and lip syncing to whatever song is playing in the background (one of Max’s particularly crippling weaknesses—as if any part of Dan  _ isn’t _ a weakness of his).

He swallows thickly and sinks deeper into his couch without taking his eyes off of his phone screen.

Normally, Max is able to filter the constant flow of  _ DanDanDan _ in his brain until only a bit leaks out every once in a while. This often happens at the most unfortunate of times, such as when he sees Dan out of the corner of his eye during an interview and immediately loses the ability to speak properly, or when he’s actually talking  _ to _ Dan and finds that he can’t  _ stop _ talking, word-vomiting for way too long until he’s able to snap his mouth shut (both scenarios almost always end with him beating a quick retreat to sulk in peace).

Anyways, he had been doing so well in keeping the leakage to a minimum over the break, despite Dan’s best efforts, but this video just completely—it doesn’t just break through the dam, the dam is completely demolished. Kaput.

Max used to exercise with Dan. They were workout buddies. This shouldn’t affect him as much as it currently is. But now, halfway across the world, Max doesn’t have to worry about his straying eyes being called out by anyone else. He doesn’t have to constantly focus on keeping his gaze straight ahead of him or pretend that his face is extra flushed because he upped the resistance on the exercise bike.

It’s a double-edged sword. Sure, that’s great and all, but Max pauses after he catches himself tapping Dan’s story back to rewatch it for like the tenth time. He might have a problem. The universe isn’t letting his  _ obviously _ very successful ‘out of sight, out of mind’ strategy work as effectively as he had anticipated.

Max eyes the time. Two o’clock in the afternoon isn’t too early, is it? 

Fuck it. These are trying times, and Max is only one man.

Which is how he finds himself swathed in blankets on his couch in the dark, curtains drawn, surrounded by empty beer cans. Another episode of  _ Kikker & Vriendjes _ is autoplaying on his flatscreen (with no Alex in sight). This episode is one of his favorites, but Max is more focused on the stuffed animal in his lap than the animated ones on the screen.

They’re in a staring contest, Max’s glassy eyes versus the lion’s wide, shiny ones. He brings it closer to his face and giggles when their noses boop together. 

“Otto,” he declares happily, to no one in particular. _“_ _ Hallo _ _,_ Otto.”

Otto continues staring at him, unblinking. Max sets him back on his lap and flails forward for his beer, but he accidentally knocks Otto off of the couch.

“Otto!” 

Max dives to the ground, beer forgotten, and scoops the stuffed animal up from the floor. He hugs him tightly.

“I’m sorry,” Max says mournfully, burying his face into Otto’s soft mane. He pulls his blankets down from the couch and wraps them snugly around himself and Otto, then turns Otto around until they’re both facing the television screen, watching Frog play hide and seek with Duck and Hare. 

****

Max peers at the crowd below him. They’re going wild, cheering and waving their arms all over the place. The Australian national anthem is playing in the background, blaring through tinny speakers. He hears a low chuckle next to him, and when he looks up to his right he sees Dan beaming at him, bright-eyed, from the top step of the podium.

“Better luck next time, eh Maxy?”

Max grins back up at him, too drunk on post-race adrenaline and being the center of Dan’s attention to come up with a proper returning zinger. 

Then  _ Carmen _ is playing and champagne splashes on Max. He sputters from the cold and laughs, aiming his bottle back at Dan. Suddenly, he finds strong arms wrapping around his waist and lifting him off of the ground, spinning him around through the falling confetti before setting him down gently.

“What’s this for?” Max laughs and wraps his arms around Dan’s neck. He would lose himself in Dan’s warm brown eyes, if he could.

  
Dan smiles. It’s not his trademark beam, but rather a softer one that Max likes to imagine is reserved for only him. One of the many that Max has memorized every curve of and tucked away deep in his heart. 

Dan brushes a piece of confetti off Max’s cheek with his thumb and pulls him impossibly closer.

“Winner’s rights.” 

He leans in.

The crowd becomes even wilder, whooping and clapping until the thunderous applause fills the sky. The photographers go crazy, and as Max smiles and leans into the kiss he can hear their camera shutters snapping away.  _ Click click click click…  _

_ Knock knock knock _

Max wakes up slowly. The room is dark. He has a blurry memory of drunkenly slapping the lights off in order to get the full theater effect for his television marathon, but when Max rolls his head to the side, he can blearily make out the faint orange glow of streetlights suffusing through the edges of his curtains. How long had he been asleep for? His brain is slow, the last remaining traces of sleep clinging to him and making his mind fuzzy. The warm weight of the blankets he’s wrapped in, as well as the softness of Otto in his arms, leaves him wavering in a state between awake and asleep. It would be very easy to drift right back to sleep.

The faint noise of the crowd is still ringing in his ears, and if he focuses hard enough, he can still feel the soft press of Dan’s lips on his. He ignores the pang of longing that twists through him and pulls Otto closer to him, burrowing deeper in his blankets. Maybe if he goes back to sleep, he’ll find his way back to that podium, to Dan.

Why was he awake, again?

_ Knock knock knock _

Max twitches as the knocking starts up again and yawns a wide, jaw-cracking yawn. He staggers up off of the ground, wincing in regret over choosing to sleep there when his back loudly cracks in protest. 

He smacks his lips together as he drags himself to the door, switching on the lights and blinding himself in the process. Max fumbles with the latch for a bit before he’s able to open the door and is still blinking the spots from his eyes when he slowly cracks it open and squints into the brightly lit hallway. When his vision clears, Max suddenly finds himself wide awake. Standing in front of Max’s door, in all of his glory, is Daniel Ricciardo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if anyone is wondering, it _is_ physically possible for dan to get to monaco from perth in the time between max seeing his insta story and dan showing up at his doorstep, i mapped it all out lmao :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was really excited to post this chapter :D i hope you like it!

“Maxy!”

Max jolts at Dan’s voice, loud in the quiet corridor. He probably looks stupid, eyes bugged out and mouth agape, but Dan’s here. Dan is  _ here _ . In Monaco. Max was watching him in  _ Australia  _ seemingly hours ago. How long had he been asleep?

“Dan?” Max cringes at how he croaks out his name, his sleep-rough voice not doing any favors in hiding his complete and utter shock.

Dan looks tired—way too awake for whatever ungodly hour it is, but as Max runs his disbelieving eyes over him, he sees how worn out he looks, in a rumpled oversized hoodie with a backpack slung over his shoulders. His hair is in disarray, and the bags that are starting to form under his eyes taints his smile with an air of exhaustion.

“Are you gonna let me in?” Dan grins widely at Max. Max blinks and scoots to the side wordlessly, opening the door wider for him to step through. 

“Why are you here? How—” Max suppresses another yawn. “ _ How _ are you here? On Instagram, you—”

“You saw that, eh?” Dan winks at Max as he enters the apartment, unaware of the crisis that Max was rapidly devolving into. Before Max can say anything in reply, Dan’s reaching up and brushing his fingers along Max’s cheek. 

“Did I wake you up? I’m sorry.” Dan doesn’t particularly sound apologetic though, steamrolling over everything with his usual high dose of optimism and cheer, and he breezes by Max in the doorway as if he didn’t just short-circuit Max’s brain beyond repair. Max reaches up in a daze to trace where Dan had gently brushed his face and feels a crease there, where he had smushed his face into his couch cushions during his impromptu nap. His dream inconveniently pops in his mind, where Dan had  _ caressed _ his face in almost exactly the same place. 

Max swallows and realizes that he’s still holding the door wide open. He slowly shuts it, mind full of champagne and confetti and podium kisses, before he turns towards Dan, who’s unloading his backpack onto the floor. Did—did he come straight from the airport?

“I caught a flight early this afternoon and wham, bam, thank you ma’am, here we are.” Dan spreads his arms out wide with a flourish.

Max is still trying to process how his life took a sudden U-turn in the past couple of minutes or so. “But  _ why _ —” 

He stops as Dan visibly perks up and makes a beeline for his coffee table—no, his couch.  _ Otto _ . Max swears and scrambles towards Dan, but it’s too late. Dan swoops Otto up and turns towards Max, eyes gleaming.

“Who’s this little fella?” Dan looks gleefully at Max, seemingly relishing the panic that Max is sure is plastered all over his face.

Max doesn’t need another Charles and Lando situation on his hands. He reaches up with both hands in an attempt to rescue Otto, but Dan leans back and is able to keep Otto higher than Max can reach, fending him off with one hand. Curse his freakishly long arms.

“Otto! Give him back!” Max jumps up and is finally able to snatch the lion out of Dan’s hand. His cheeks burn out of embarrassment over his reaction. Maybe if he had kept his cool, he would have been able to play it off. But Otto was special to him, and one of his secret sources of comfort. Seeing him exposed like this, probably to make fun of Max, was a really shitty feeling. To his horror, he can feel the hot sting of tears pricking his eyes.  _ Winners don’t whine. _ He hugs Otto closer to his chest.

“Oh, you  _ named _ it—” Dan’s delight quickly fades when he notices the tear that slips unwittingly down Max’s cheek. “Maxy?”

Max furiously wipes his eyes with the hand that’s not tightly clutching Otto.

“I’m fine.”

Dan steps closer to Max and immediately stops when Max backs away from him. Max’s eyes are glued to the ground, but he can see how Dan’s shoes pause at the edges of his vision.

“I’m sorry,” Dan’s voice is soft, gentle, like he’s trying to tame a spooked animal. 

Max flushes even more in embarrassment and blinks rapidly to clear his vision, blurred by tears. Great. Dan probably thought he was a wimp. Max imagined finding out that Dan had a honey badger stuffed animal or something. Before Otto, he probably would have laughed at Dan, teased him for owning something so childish. Dan wouldn’t have cared—in fact, he would have fired right back and defended himself, all with an easy smile on his face. But he was strong like that. Max…wasn’t.

In fact, Max is expecting Dan to poke fun at him the same way Max would at him, but when Max risks a glance upwards, Dan is holding his hand out. His face is open, if a little cautious, but his arm is stretched out steadily.

Max tightens his grip on Otto with one hand and slowly reaches out with the other, sliding it shakily into Dan’s warm grip, and then Dan guides him over until they’re sitting next to each other on the couch.

They sit in silence for a while. Dan is close enough for Max to soak up his body heat, their thighs and shoulders touching, and Max closes his eyes and tilts his head onto the back of the couch, focusing only on those points of contact. He savors it, maybe for the last time, before Dan realizes that he’s better off without Max and leaves, for good this time. How did this go so wrong so quickly.

Dan is the first to break the silence. “I really am sorry, Max. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

His voice is solemn, serious, and Max doesn’t know what to do. He’s used to trading lighthearted jabs with Dan, banter to fill the silence that really doesn’t hold any deeper meaning other than the fact that they want to have fun and talk to each other. This is a total anomaly that Max isn’t prepared for, kind of like shunting his car into the wall fifteen minutes before a race, or having his tire blow out right after gaining second place. Everything is fine until it isn’t, and then Max is stuck staring at the steaming wreck that used to be his car. Or in this case, his and Dan’s friendship.

“He’s—it’s nothing Dan, really. Just some stupid thing.” Maybe if he plays this the right way, he’ll be able to salvage something from this disaster. “I don’t know why I kept it, anyways.” 

Max startles when Dan squeezes his hand, not realizing that he had never let go. He opens his eyes and turns towards Dan only to see Dan already looking at him, eyes kind, and a little sad. Suddenly, Max knows that he won’t be able to play this off.

“No, Maxy, it’s not stupid at all. I actually—” He looks a bit sheepish now, and Max squeezes his hand back in support to help him through whatever he’s embarrassed about. It can’t be much worse than the situation he’s in right now. “I put that lion, what did you name it? Otto? I put him in your room,” Dan admits, and then upon seeing Max’s face, rushes to add, “But not to make fun of you!”

Max is back to gaping at Dan like a goldfish, at a loss for words.

“I gotta say, that’s a pretty cute name.” Dan directs a half smile at him.

“You don’t—why?”

“Why what?”

They’re really having this conversation, huh? Where should he even start? “Why did you put him in my room? Why didn’t you tell me it was you? Why don’t you care that I’m like this? And why are you even here?”

Max feels a little satisfied at seeing Dan wince after hearing his last question. There’s some solace in knowing that this is going to be uncomfortable for the both of them.

Dan stretches his legs out from his seat on the couch and establishes himself more firmly into place. His hand still hasn’t left Max’s.

“Well, I don’t really know exactly why I got it—Otto—in the first place,” he shrugs. “Just saw him online one day and thought of you.”

Max doesn’t know how he feels about that, a strange jumble of pride and discomfort spreading throughout him. Besides the obvious lion aspect, why would a stuffed animal remind Dan of him?  _ Winners don’t need toys. _

Dan continues. “As for why, I think it’s obvious why I didn’t tell you. Imagine what that conversation would have been like.  _ Hey mate, just got you this stuffed animal. Hope you like it. _ ” he chuckles and rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “Just thought it was best to leave it there.”

“I do,” Max says quietly.

Dan pauses and looks at him. “You do what?”

“I do like him. Otto.”

Dan seems to be caught off guard.

“Good.” He looks down with a small smile, and if Max doesn’t know him better, he would say that he’s bashful, even  _ shy _ . ‘Shy’ has never been a word uttered in the same sentence as ‘Daniel Ricciardo’, but then again, Max is now getting the feeling that he doesn’t know Dan as well as he thought he did.

Normally, Dan speaks with his whole body, gesturing with his hands to such a degree that Max always suspects that he’s pranking everyone. Now, however, he’s only using his left hand to talk. His dominant hand, his right one, is still snug in Max’s left hand, and it doesn’t feel like he’s planning on moving it anytime soon. 

Max is more than okay with that.

Dan meets Max’s eyes again. “I thought you would throw him away. I’m really glad you didn’t.” And for the first time ever since he got Otto, Max is proud that he didn’t, too.

The warm feeling lasts until Dan speaks up again.

“What does your third question mean?”

“Um, sorry I forgot.” Max shifts a little in his seat, breaking eye contact to stare at the table, the wall, anything other than Dan. Him and his big mouth.

“‘Why don’t you care that I’m like this?’ Like what, Maxy?”

“I don’t know.” Max shrugs uncomfortably. “I’m an adult. A driver for Formula One. I shouldn’t need stupid things like stuffed animals. It’s weird.”

Even as he speaks, he finds himself clutching Otto closer to himself and feels nauseous at how weak he is. 

“Oh Maxy,” Dan’s voice is back to the softness that makes Max want to curl up and either melt into it or shrink away. It’s comforting and tender, overwhelmingly so, and Max doesn’t know what to do with it. “There’s nothing wrong with it at all.”

“But I shouldn’t…” Max’s voice comes perilously close to cracking, and he swallows a sob threatening to escape. Shame bubbles up inside of him.  _ Winners don’t whine. _

Dan patiently waits for him to compose himself and squeezes his hand again. “I want to understand, Maxy. Can you explain more, please? For me?”

Max doesn’t say anything at first. He doesn’t particularly want to and feels squirmy at the idea of talking about his  _ stuffed animal _ , but Dan, of all people, doesn’t deserve to be blocked out in the way  Max instinctively wants to. He leans more into Dan’s side, turning so he can hide his face into his shoulder, and Dan lets him, even letting go of Max’s hand to wrap his arm around Max’s back, making it more comfortable for him. Knowing him, he’s probably aware that Max needs to hide a little in order to get the words out.

“It’s just—” Max doesn’t know how he’s going to explain this. He’s not even sure what  _ this _ is, the whole bundle of discomfort over owning a simple stuffed animal having blown out of proportion into something a lot bigger than he would have ever expected. 

“It’s like helmet padding.” Max begins slowly, trying to gather his thoughts. “People need it because they aren't able to perform well enough without it. But after a while, they outgrow it. It’s nice to have, but when people get to higher levels of racing they don’t need to use it anymore.”

“By people, you mean you.” It wasn’t a question.

“...right.”

“Max,  _ I _ use padding.” 

Max tenses up at the realization. “I didn’t mean—” 

“It’s okay,” Dan rubs his back soothingly. “My point is, you didn’t stop using padding because you really thought you didn’t need it anymore, hm?”

“No,” Max says reluctantly, and he guesses he always did know, somewhere in the back of his mind.

Dan exhales slowly. “You know, I meant it, before. Everybody needs self-care. Be it padding or stuffed animals.”

Technically, Max knows that. It’s totally understandable. But when he tries to apply that logic to himself, something in his brain blocks it from making sense, and he sinks into a sludgy soup of shame.

“Just because you think you don’t need something anymore doesn't mean you shouldn’t have it,” Dan says gently, “But it wasn’t your idea for you to stop using padding, was it?”

Max shakes his head into Dan’s shoulder.

The implication goes unsaid but not unnoticed.

When Max starts to speak again, a wide yawn interrupts him, and Dan chuckles at the disgruntled face he makes after.

“Sleep,” he says softly, “I’ll be here tomorrow, Maxy.”

Max leans wordlessly onto him, settling further into the couch cushions with Otto. Dan reaches forward and grabs one of Max’s abandoned blankets off of the ground, draping it over both of them.

“You’re my padding,” Max sleepily confesses to Dan’s shoulder, and had he been more awake, he would have kicked himself for showing his hand so obviously.

The arm around Max only hugs him closer. “And you’re mine,” Dan says softly.

Max doesn’t respond, already drifting off. The last thing he registers is Dan’s hand, gently brushing the hair from his forehead, and the lightest pressure on the top of his head.

The last question goes unanswered.

_ Why are you here? _


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the last chapter! what a journey writing this fic has been for me
> 
> i have been absolutely overwhelmed with the support i have gotten. i wrote this as some self-comfort and honestly didn't expect much from posting it. thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for reading this and being so kind and supportive <3
> 
> without further ado, the cherry on top of the fluff sundae :)

Max wakes up slowly. He’s warm, Otto secured under his arm, with the weight of the blanket covering him giving him a sense of security. He’s safe. There’s a hand slowly rubbing his back under the blanket, and Max tilts his head up to see Dan. Daylight shines through the gap where his drawn curtains meet, illuminating him in a wash of light.

During the night, Dan must have rearranged them, as they’re now lying horizontally on the couch. He’s sitting half-up with Max’s head is pillowed on his chest, and Max can feel the slow rise and fall of his chest, and hear his heartbeat, rhythmic and comforting. He never wants to move.

Dan is scrolling through his phone with his other hand, but when he feels Max shift and slowly wake up, he looks past it to meet Max’s eyes.

“Hey you,” he murmurs, smiling down at him.

Max rubs the sleep from his eyes and props his chin on his chest to face him. “Good morning.”

“You missed ‘morning’ by a good couple of hours, Maxy,” Dan laughs. Max only grins and shrugs.

The comfortable silence stretches on for a bit until Dan suddenly speaks. “I came here for you.”

Max pauses. What?

“I missed you, in Australia. Thought I might as well come here. Although I guess my timing isn’t the best,” Dan admits, and Max snorts.

“I missed you too,” he says. It feels honest and open between the two of them, something fundamental between the two of them having shifted. For the first time in a long time, Max’s mind is quiet. There’s nothing—nobody—in the back of his head filling his thoughts with self-reproach. Just him and Dan. And Otto too, of course. As Max looks at Dan’s brilliant smile, he knows that they both feel it.

They grin stupidly at each other for what seems like a while until Dan leans forward, pressing a soft kiss to Max’s lips. Max has imagined this very moment way too many times, but nothing that he ever came up with could ever compare to the real thing. It’s perfect, and comfortable, and he wouldn’t want it any other way. He melts into the kiss and Dan’s hands as they come up to cradle his head, his thumb tracing Max’s cheekbone.

“We good?” Dan tilts his head down until his forehead rests on Max’s, warm eyes scanning his.

Max hums and leans forward, brushing his lips to Dan’s again. “You should have asked me that before you kissed me, idiot.”

“Shut up, babe,” Dan laughs and pulls Max closer to his chest. “You want breakfast?”

Max makes an unhappy noise.

“Lunch?” Dan tries. “Brunch?”

Max snuggles down between Dan’s legs more in protest, wrapping his arms around his torso to emphasize his unwillingness to move. 

Dan lets out an exasperated huff, but the smile playing on his lips gives him away. “Fine,” he sighs.

“You act like it’s hard,” Max says, muffled into the blankets.

He smothers his smile into Otto’s mane, deliriously happy. If he could, they would be welcoming the next season still as teammates. But he’ll settle for staying in Dan’s arms, Otto squished between them, for a good while longer.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it :)
> 
> Find me on [tumblr](https://f1reandfuel.tumblr.com/)!


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